


Spinning Wheel

by Xpouii



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Forced, Forced Breeding, Knotting, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:02:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xpouii/pseuds/Xpouii
Summary: King Romulus' kingdom is a prosperous one both economically and in battle. His two sons are the pride of their kingdom, his fierce alpha son Remus is like a living battering ram, set to take over the throne. Omega Roman is an expert swordsman, decorated knight and has no interest at all in diplomatic marriage, but soon King Romulus' plans for his sons set them on a path wildly out of their control. Roman's manservant Virgil must choose where his loyalties lie, and whether biology is stronger than devotion, or if his fate i--and the fate of his beloved prince--is written in his DNA.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	1. Broken Prince

The castle was bustling with activity, some of it positive, some of it fearful— _most_ of it fearful. King Romulus and his son Remus had been leading the kingdom’s armies in war with enemies across the East Sea. The king had come and gone several times, but his son had been away for four years. Today, the prince would be arriving in the kingdom to remain at the castle until the battle was ended. _Why_ remained a subject of debate, but with less than a day’s warning, servants and guards had a lot to do besides gossip. Virgil was one of them. He was manservant to Remus’ twin brother, prince Roman. He had been gifted to Roman on his fifth birthday, when Virgil had only just turned four a month before. They’d grown up together, Virgil learning to serve while Roman learned to handle a sword from the castle guard, and learned to sing and read and compose from his mother the Queen. Romulus himself had paid little attention to the boy—especially when Roman emerged as an omega while Remus was a dominant, powerful alpha like his father.

Virgil himself was a beta despite his mother’s tendency to produce alphas, and it had been a fortunate occurrence. There were no alphas allowed within the castle walls other than King Romulus and his son, so by the time Virgil turned sixteen, an age when even the latest blooming alphas would have long-since emerged, Virgil was labelled a beta who could remain at Roman’s side. Roman spent his time competing in any tournaments put on by his father or any of their allies. Now an expert in swordplay, it was long suspected that Roman would become his father’s Knight Commander and lead the king’s armies while Remus took the throne. Through it all, Virgil remained a steadfast companion and servant, never far from his prince.

Just now, Virgil had been summoned down to the apothecary in the castle’s lower level where the castle chemist awaited. Roman wasn’t sick, nor had he sent Virgil for anything, so it was strange to be summoned—especially when he should be helping Roman prepare for what would no doubt be a very public reunion with his twin brother. The smell of medicine and uneasy magic stung Virgil’s nose when he stepped into the large apothecary, “Deceit?”

The man looked up from his desk and stood. He was usually an even-tempered man, hard to rattle, but he looked worried, and that made Virgil’s stomach tighten. “Thank you for coming Virgil. I need to tell you about the prince’s arrival.”

“I heard when the letter was read in the servant’s quarters,” Virgil dismissed. “I should be upstairs helping Prince Roman prepare.”

“Yes,” Deceit said softly. “That is precisely why I called you down here. I have news that isn’t pleasant, and I’ve been threatened with death should it get out. So now I have to ask the obvious question. Will you swear yourself to secrecy?”

“If it’s about Roman, I won’t speak a word to anyone,” Virgil said. “You’re worrying me.”

“Good,” Deceit said. “You should be worried. Remus isn’t coming home to man the castle for his father, or to find a mate or a bride. He’s coming home on a much more sinister errand. King Romulus has decided that Remus must have the purest possible son, an alpha prince to put in line for the throne before Roman.”

Virgil shrugged, “That’s not surprising. Roman has no interest in the crown, though. Second sons rarely sit on the throne.”

“Roman is second son by fifteen minutes, hardly a solid claim on Remus’ part, but that is beside the point. Your prince is to be _bred_ , Virgil. He’ll be producing the heir you idiot boy.” Deceit rubbed his hands over his face, “I called you down here to fetch a medicinal tea for him. It will help relax him… prepare him for what Remus plans to do. There won’t be any fanfare or banquets. The moment Remus’ boots touch the palace floor, he is to begin his task.”

Virgil was silent, dumbfounded, baffled and horrified. He blinked and stared hard at the steaming cup Deceit held out to him. “I… but that would be-”

“Incest? In a royal family? How unheard of!” Deceit muttered. “I share your disdain, but the only thing to do now is try and make it as painless as possible for Roman until the dark deed is done. Now go before it gets cold.”

Virgil took the tea numbly and turned away, hurrying out and up the stone stairs. He passed the crowds of servants without seeing them, returned greetings without hearing them. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest that he could barely breathe. Stopping just outside of Roman’s bedchamber, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Roman knew his face too well not to spot panic if it was there.

When Virgil entered, Roman spun around, a broad grin on his face, “Virgil! Did you hear? Remus is arriving at the castle today! Permanently! I think I’m to be named father’s Knight Commander. Do you think this cape is nice enough? Does it clash with my regalia?”

“It’s only your brother. He’s seen your honors, Your Highness,” Virgil said, stepping forward with the ceramic cup. “Your tea.”

“I didn’t send for tea,” Roman said, but he took it with a smile. “Another medicine from Deceit?”

Virgil nodded, “It’s a… muscle relaxer. He suspected you’d be nervous about your brother’s arrival.”

“Perhaps,” Roman said. “We haven’t been in the same room for well over four years. I’m surprised father didn’t return with him. It seems like an event.”

Virgil winced but managed to turn it into a smile for Roman’s sake, “You being named Knight Commander would truly be an event, Your Highness.”

“I’m going to wear my red cape instead,” Roman said. “Fetch it would you, please? I want to look my best. What if father commissioned a portrait of the meeting? I may not get time to change.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Virgil said. He walked to the dressing chamber that held rows and rows of clothing, some for tournaments, some for balls, some for banquets, political meetings, specific holidays, and Roman’s red velvet cape that had been designed specifically to match the favorite cape of his late mother. Virgil took it down gently and shook it out, admiring the soft garment and resisting the urge to bury his face in the gathering of fabric and inhale the scent of Roman—or what passed for scent to a beta. Instead, he returned to help his prince prepare for what would likely be one of the worst days of his life.

Only an hour later, Prince Remus’ footfalls sounded heavily down the carpeted hallway, and his swagger was palpable as Virgil struggled to keep up. The pheromones hung heavy in the air as he entered Roman’s chambers, and the prince recognized his brother before he even heard the door open. Virgil followed quickly before he had the door shut in his face. Roman was at the window again and he turned in surprise, “Remus! I thought you’d call me downstairs.”

Remus’s nose twitched and he smirked, “Omega.” The greeting was more purred than spoken, and Roman’s discomfort was instant.

“Father didn’t give me the reason for your return. I hope you weren’t injured in battle. You look well.” Roman moved forward and extended his hand, not the jovial hug of close siblings, but the stiff handshake of relatives separated by time and status.

“Father sent me,” Remus said. “He’s going to take control of the battle on the East Sea for now. I’m here for diplomatic reasons.”

“Oh,” Roman said, then perked up again, “You’re taking a wife? Does that mean father means to retire?”

“It isn’t a wife I’ll be taking,” Remus said. “Stop asking so many questions, Roman. Omegas are supposed to be seen, _smelled_ and not heard… speaking of which. Your pheromones are weak. Deceit still hasn’t figured out what’s wrong with you? How will father ever marry you off to some outlying kingdom for land agreements if you won’t even attempt to be enticing?”

“Father has you,” Roman said. “Why would he need to involve me in any land agreements?”

Remus grit his teeth, “I’m fairly certain I told you to stop asking so many questions.” The older prince moved forward and backhanded Roman, catching the young prince as he fell and shoving him against the large canopy bed in the center of the room. “It’s a good thing father has me. How else would he ever hope to continue our bloodline?”

Roman struggled but Remus’ strength—both as a knight and as an alpha—easily outmatched him, and he met Virgil’s eyes with terror. Virgil swallowed his own fear. Roman needed him. He walked over and leaned in to help Roman up onto the bed, avoiding Remus’ eyes, “Shall I help with your clothes, Your Highness?”

“Don’t bother,” Remus said, tearing Roman’s pants open and running his fingers over Roman’s ass. “You certainly have an omega’s backside don’t you? Soft, inviting.” Remus slipped two fingers down to Roman’s entrance, pressing one in and scoffing, “Barely even wet, though. Did the queen teach you nothing about being an omega?”

Roman’s face burned red as Virgil took a pillow from the top of the bed and maneuvered it under Roman’s face. He suspected there might be crying, screaming, and he wanted Roman to be able to muffle as much as he could. Roman whimpered as Remus removed the rest of his clothes, pulling and tearing until Roman was exposed to him, and he could see the pale expanse of his back, perfect and smooth. “Your Highness,” Virgil said. “Deceit suggested that I attend to assist Prince Roman during the…” He faltered, unable to say it.

His hesitation—and existence for that matter—were completely ignored by Remus as the prince undid his belt and freed his cock, already hard—perhaps from cruelty alone, Virgil thought. Then the older prince breached his brother and Roman reached out, grabbing Virgil’s hand so tightly that his fingers popped and Virgil had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a brave face for Roman.

It was fast and violent, and Remus clearly had far more experience as an alpha than Roman had as an omega in the most primal terms. Virgil had never seen any sort of joining, but Remus had just as much control here as he did when Virgil had seen him sparring with Roman in the gardens, the brutish swings of his Morningstar making Virgil’s heart sink each time they came too close to catching Roman’s light body. There was nothing lithe or graceful about Roman now as he sobbed beneath his brother, his tears wetting Virgil’s knuckles as he pulled his hand closer the way he had when they were children and the prince would have a nightmare.

“Usually my whores don’t cry so easily,” Remus said. “But you’ve always been sensitive. Hopefully that isn’t something you’ll pass on. Otherwise I’m afraid this will be a wasted venture.”

Roman’s fist squeezed much harder as a spike of anger and humiliation shot through him and Virgil sucked in a breath, reminded just how strong the younger prince was, omega or not. Virgil’s heart was sinking more and more with each wet, sinful sound of the princes’ connecting bodies and he tried to convince himself that it was pity instead of jealousy. Virgil had begun looking at Roman closely as soon as the prince had first emerged as an omega, nearly fifteen years earlier. Muscles, lips, eyes and sweet singing voice had blossomed, and Virgil wished he was an alpha prince from a faraway kingdom instead of a beta manservant who’d been bought into servitude when his parents had needed to feed their other children.

Although it was hard to be bitter about spending almost all of his live with Roman, it was easy to grow covetous of each deep, complete thrust that opened the prince’s body, each wanton moan of despair that escaped Roman’s lips between Virgil’s fingers, the sound and sight of Roman’s slick and the painful reminder that he would never take in the unique, magical scent of Roman’s body the way an alpha could. Roman’s sounds quieted as the tea began to work—or the prince simply resigned himself to his fate. Either way, Virgil’s hand was released and Roman buried his face fully in the pillow.

“There we go,” Remus growled. “I hate the sound of your sniveling sometimes. I had to deal with it for the first twenty-three years of my life.”

The slap of bodies increased in frequency, and Virgil could see it, the swollen knot at the base of Remus’ cock, just before he shoved it inside and Roman cried out all over again, broken sobs shaking his body. Remus swore and snarled, lowering his face to Roman’s shoulder as he pumped him full of seed. It was now that an alpha would bite to claim an omega he intended to mate, but Remus was only making pure heirs at his father’s request, a mad king’s madder ideas. Roman wept into the pillow and Virgil bit his tongue bloody as envy and rage sat heavy in his stomach. “More tea, Your Highness?”

“Don’t go,” Roman whispered. “Please.”

“You know,” Remus said, leaning more heavily against Roman. “Father knotted the queen for two hours the day we were conceived. Do you think I can match that?”

Virgil had to look away to hide his disgust, and he jumped when there was a heavy knock on the door, “Prince Remus?”

“Come!” Remus called straightening back to a standing position and forcing Roman to scoot back with him. Virgil moved quickly, pulling one of the plush blankets over Roman’s body to give him what little dignity he had left. He moved beneath the blanket in front of Roman and listened to Remus discuss room décor for his chamber renovations. Roman’s breathing was thick and broken by hiccups, “Virgil?”

“Yes, Your Highness?” Virgil asked, staring at Roman’s trembling, bite-swollen lips in the filtered light. He wanted so badly to taste them.

“Is this… what the tea was really for?” Roman asked thickly. “Did you know?”

Virgil’s heart broke, and he closed his eyes, taking a careful breath, “Yes, Your Highness. Deceit had strict orders to keep it a secret, under penalty of death. I wanted to tell you… I’m so sorry.”

Roman lowered his face back to the pillow, his eyes glazing a bit, “Please go and get me another tea from Deceit, Virgil.”

It stung, but Virgil knew that he deserved far worse. He moved out from beneath the blanket and quickly swept out of the room between the three servants speaking with Remus, huddled over a set of drawings.

Deceit looked up when Virgil entered, “Another tea?”

“Another tea,” Virgil said. “It’s done.”

“It’s _started_ ,” Deceit said. “Won’t be done until there’s a proof of pregnancy. How is he?”

“How do you think?” Virgil snapped.

Deceit nodded, moving to start the tea. “It’s a shame that the torture is just a fool’s errand.”

“Fool’s errand?”

“There won’t be any conception until Roman has his first heat. He should have, as far into his twenties as he is, but heat’s are most often brought on by nonfamilial alpha pheromones.”

“But there aren’t any alphas allowed inside the castle walls,” Virgil said.

“Very good, Virgil,” Deceit said. He hissed in pain as he burned his finger, slipping it into his mouth. “As his manservant, you need to find a way to help your prince.”

“I can’t sneak alpha pheromones into the castle!” Virgil said. “It would be suspicious if I left and besides, the inner guard is made up entirely of omegas. They’d sniff me out in a second.”

Deceit stared at the warming concoction over the fire, “I will come up with a reason. Come and see me in the morning after Roman’s had his breakfast.”

Virgil folded his arms, already eager to return to his prince’s side. “Alright.”

“You’re in love with him.” Deceit said as the water began to boil.

“Love!” Virgil hissed. “We just… just grew up together! I have a strong devotion to my prince. I’m his manservant. That’s… that’s all.”

Deceit smiled to himself as he strained to medicine and handed the cup to Virgil, “No need to worry. Your badly kept secret is safe in my apothecary.” He picked up a sachet and handed it to Virgil as well. “Put this in your prince’s bathwater. It will help with any… injury. Hurry back to him now. Don’t leave him alone with that brute any longer than you have to.”

The ordeal ended up lasting around ninety minutes, just short of the _record_ Remus was chasing, and when he left, jovially bragging to the guard’s outside in the hallway, Virgil was left to pick up the pieces. Roman had fallen into a stunned sort of half-sleep after the second tea, and Virgil was able to move without hurting him too much. He helped Roman onto his feet and got him into his bath chamber, drawing a hot bath and tossing in the sachet as Deceit had suggested. Roman sank into the water so fully that Virgil spent more energy keeping him afloat than actually washing him. As the bath went on, a smell rose in the Prince’s quarters, the dusky burn of imported cinnamon and the undeniable smell of berries ripening in the castle’s fields. The way it smelled outside in early May, but not when the berries were brought inside and processed. It was a very particular smell, and Virgil wondered what magic Deceit’s sachet held if it could capture such a thing.

Virgil managed to dry and dress the prince again before getting him into bed. Roman was sore, physically and emotionally, and any quick movements or louder sounds made him whimper, but once Virgil had him safely tucked in, and the lights extinguished in his bed chamber, Roman fell into a deeper sleep. By the end of it all, Virgil was convinced. He couldn’t let Roman go through this any more times than was necessary. Somehow, he would have to get alpha pheromones past the guards. He _would_ protect his prince. 


	2. Iron Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two smiths, two mindsets, one very fateful evening.

Logan rolled his eyes as the commotion roaring from the smithy next to his own, loud voices practically rattling the stone wall that separated them. Logan glanced to his fire that was still not hot enough for work, and stood up from his bench, stretching his back. He made the short trip to the loud—cheerful—voices. His “neighbor” was Master Blacksmith Patton, and also his lifelong friend. Patton was shorter than Logan but powerful, built more like the ovens he worked than a man. Patton was standing with a small group of children—his plethora of apprentices.

“Since it’s your birthday, I’ll allow it,” Patton said with false solemnity. A smile was itching at the corners of his mouth. “But you know not just anyone can handle a sword of this caliber.”

The boy, _Addison_ if Logan remembered correctly, nodded solemnly and held the child-sized sword with great respect. “Yes, Master Patton. I will wield it with honor.”

“Very good! _And_! Take this to your mother as well.” He dropped a few coins into the boy’s hand. “Go and enjoy your birthday, Addy. There’ll be plenty of work tomorrow!”

“Thank you!” the boy called, scrambling off into the street. The other apprentices milled off to work, mostly stoking fires and replenishing water troughs.

Logan sidled up to Patton, “Feeling generous are we?”

“It’s his birthday,” Patton dismissed.

“Wasn’t his birthday last month as well?” Logan asked.

Patton chuckled and wiped his hands on the thick leather apron he was wearing, “It’s only scrap iron.”

“Scrap iron worked by a blacksmith with royal accolades,” Logan said with a roll of his eyes. “How many orders do you have?”

“Just working on this and that,” Patton said. “Not a terribly busy day. You?”

“Lady Carrington’s ordered another set of plates,” Logan said. “Enough hammering to give you a headache for a few days.”

Patton smiled, “I love the sound of your hammering, Logan. I don’t know what I’d do without it, that and the smell of jeweler’s pickle.”

Logan huffed, “A better smell than sweat and singed hair.”

“Hey it only smells like singed hair if I get distracted,” Patton said, and Logan couldn’t help but glanced at the scars along Patton’s forearms. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been a week,” Logan said. “Although to be fair I think that was one of your little goblins you let in here.”

“My _apprentices_ are skilled young people,” Patton said. “I’m sure at least half of them will be journeymen by next year!”

Logan opened his mouth but suddenly his ears were ringing and his face felt hot; he shook his head, pressing his fingers into his temples. When he looked up Patton was looking at him with concern. “I haven’t quite shaken off the sleep yet,” Logan muttered, leaving quickly.

Logan sank back onto his bench and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the stars that were swimming in his vision. He knew too well what the problem was, his damned _heat_ , but it wasn’t normally so intense in the mornings, and it was _early_.

Logan managed to struggle through the first few mornings hours, working away at the ordered silver plates for the wealthy lady’s extravagant dinners. Logan himself ate from silver plates every night, but his extravagant dinners were always—blessedly—for one. Being a silversmith had perks beyond creative outlet and money, after all. It wasn’t until just after the midday bells had rung in the church tower that the scrawny messenger boy showed up in the smithy. Logan was glad for the distraction, so he met the boy with a raised eyebrow rather than an outright scowl of annoyance, “Yes?”

“Message from Lady Carrington,” the boy said. “She wants to double her order of plates.”

“Of course she does,” Logan said. “Is that all?”

“The Lady says she’ll triple the payment if you don’t take any longer to complete the order,” the messenger said. He was eyeing the coin purse that hung on Logan’s hip. Logan sighed and shook out two coins for the boy. “Tell her I’ll have them done, no change in schedule.”

The boy pocketed the coins and ran off. Logan turned around to check what he’d finished already when another wave of heat slammed him into the wall and he fought to steady himself. Three days of this would ensure Logan could never finish the order on time. He grit his teeth and returned to his workspace, sitting heavily on the bench and scrubbing his face with his calloused palms. He gave himself a moment, but the order had just doubled, and he had no time for weakness. With a deep breath, Logan got back to work, soothed by the sound of rhythmic hammering and the smell of his shop, a smell that was so familiar sometimes he didn’t smell it at all. There was something else in it, though, something deep like burnished wood, and Logan sniffed, looking at his own fire to make sure nothing was burning—that wasn’t _supposed to_. That’s when he saw him.

A man with blond hair pulled into a messy bun, dirtier than the typical sort he got in his shop. The swagger and the _smell_ were unmistakable, and the man bared his teeth in a predatory grin as he stepped closer, “You know, it isn’t very professional to be advertising yourself like that during work.”

Logan stood immediately and felt the tickle of slick escaping his body, responding to the heavy pheromones in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you here to buy something?”

The alpha’s grin widened as he moved in, his nose wrinkling as he dragged Logan’s scent into his nose. “You know, a good roll with me would take care of that,” the man rasped. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be allowed out of the house when you’re whoring around like that.”

Logan took another step back, gritting his teeth as he felt behind him as discreetly as he could for something to defend himself. “If you aren’t here to buy then get out,” Logan said, hating how his voice shook.

The alpha snorted, grabbing Logan’s wrist and spinning him around. Logan yelped as he was slammed into his own worktable, the wood scratching his cheek when he struggled to escape. His own body was betraying him, heavy and weak under the pheromones stinging his nose. “What’s going on here!”

The alpha held Logan where he was, but he straightened and Logan looked over his shoulder as much as he could. He could see Patton’s boots moving in closer. The alpha growled, “Omega here was asking for help. Seeping like an old well. I’m here to answer his call.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Patton said. His voice was stone, and suddenly the stranger’s pheromones were gone, overpowered by a wave so strong Logan’s knees went weak. The alpha hesitated, then stumbled back and ran, leaving Patton to catch Logan before he went the rest of the way to the floor. “What happened Logan? He attacked you?”

Logan took in a shaky breath, turning to hide his face in Patton’s chest. He’d lost complete control of himself now, and slick was running down his inner thighs. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Oh! Right.” The pheromones lessened as Patton got control of himself, “I’m sorry. Seeing him about to hurt you I… got carried away. Logan are you… in heat?”

“Patton just… just get away,” he said, but his vice grip on Patton’s apron said something else. “I… don’t want this.”

Patton helped Logan get his feet under him, “It’s ok, Logan. I’ll take you home. The boys can close up for us. I promise I won’t do anything ok? I can’t just leave you like this. You can barely walk.”

“Not usually this bad,” Logan muttered. The fear he had felt was fading, and the last thing he wanted was for Patton to leave. He _needed_ him. “Your place is closer.”

“Right,” Patton said. He took off Logan’s apron, then his own and walked to the entrance of the shop. “James!”

The oldest of Patton’s apprentices, nearly twelve ran to them, looking worried. “Yes, Master Patton?”

“Close up the shops and bring the keys to my home, please. Make sure the fires are out, and have others help.”

“Yes sir,” the boy said, running back to Patton’s shop.

Logan’s ears rang again and he leaned heavily against his friend; his mind was spinning, stars behind his eyes as Patton half-carried him down the street. Patton assured a few curious shopkeepers that Logan had simply overheated working at the fire. The sweat matting his hair to his forehead was enough to convince them not to interrupt—and Patton had no intention of stopping anyway.

It was a decently short walk to Patton’s modest little home, and once inside Logan was surrounded by the inescapable scent of Patton, usually a mere annoyance but now a full-blown _issue_ in his state. Patton led Logan to the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed, “I’ll get you some water.”

Logan writhed on the small mattress, trying to get comfortable. Patton reappeared so suddenly that Logan scrambled away, backing against the wall, but Patton just set down the water, “You normally stay home, don’t you?”

“It... came early,” Logan said, reaching for the water with a shaky hand.

“It usually lasts three days,” Patton said. “When you’re feeling up to it I can take you home if-”

Logan sputtered, “I can’t wait three days. I have to go back tomorrow. The order for… for…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, “Lady Carrington?”

“It has to be done on time,” Logan said miserably. “She doubled it.”

“Is there something I can get you from the apothecary? An herb or… something?”

Logan shook his head, “Doesn’t work.”

Patton nodded, “I’m sorry Logan. I wish I could help you… but I don’t think you’ll be able to work tomorrow if this is your first day. My brother’s heats always got more intense as the days went on. He was pretty unbearable to be around by the third day.”

Logan gave Patton a look, but he was too weak for one of his full-strength glares. “Help me, Patton.”

“I would if I could,” Patton said, his eyes on the floor.

“You can,” Logan whined, undoing his pants that were now completely unwearable, anyway. He was desperate to have them off.

Patton glanced up, looking bewildered, “Logan do you mean…”

“Please,” Logan said. “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t… if my entire reputation wasn’t at stake.”

“Of course,” Patton said. “But… are you _sure_?”

Logan bit his lip in frustration, tossing his pants across the room. “Damn it Patton I _need_ you!”

The last of Logan’s sentence was a whine and Patton’s pupils dilated as a wave of Logan’s scent hit his nose. “You need me?”

Logan tore off his shirt and sighed at the relief of cool air on his skin. He glanced at Patton, “ _Alpha_.”

Patton bared his teeth and he stood, shedding his own clothing before crawling over the bed to capture Logan’s lips with his own. Logan melted beneath him, and Patton kissed down to Logan’s neck, inhaling deeply and groaning, “Logan.”

Logan sighed, arching up against Patton, “Please, Patton.”

“Shhh,” Patton nuzzled Logan’s neck, taking his time. He slowly kissed down Logan’s body until he was between the omega’s legs. He flipped Logan over and the omega was reminded of Patton’s strength, “Have to taste you.”

Logan cried out as Patton’s tongue slid over his entrance, and he rocked backward instinctively. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough. “Stop… stop stalling and f- _fuck_ me!”

Patton sat back on his knees and smiled when Logan rolled back onto his back, “You smell like metal and parchment, but you taste like fire.”

“And you smell like wet dog,” Logan huffed, but he wrapped his legs around Patton’s waist, silently begging for more.

Patton pushed inside and they both moaned, Logan a bit louder, “Are you-“

“ _Yes_ , Patton,” Logan panted.

Patton met Logan’s gaze and smiled as he started to move, leaning down to kiss Logan softly. Logan cried out against Patton’s lips, fear and need and _ecstasy_ twisting into a braid of mindlessness as he was touched like this for the first time. Patton’s weight was a comfort and a prison, and Logan’s body and mind wrestled with his reaction. Pinned—albeit gently—under an alpha, being rutted into, being stretched open, covered in scent and sweat and _maddeningly_ soft kisses from Patton’s chapped lips. It was a warm bath that Logan was terrified to sink into, but the water was so inviting.

Logan hid his face in the soft pillows beneath his head, unknowingly baring his neck, but when Patton kissed the spot, Logan could think of nothing else than being bitten. He groaned, tangling a hand in Patton’s hair, “Yes! Yes there please!”

Patton didn’t bite, didn’t so much as graze the spot with his teeth, but he sucked at the skin until it bloomed with a subtle mark, and Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head. “I’ve got you,” Patton whispered in his ear. “I won’t… I won’t do that to you.”

“ _Want_ it,” Logan growled. “I want everything! Please!”

Patton reached down and took Logan’s throbbing cock in his hand, stroking in time with his thrusts. Logan wanted to protest, to ask for the bite again, but words failed him as he squirmed under the unbearable stimulation. He moved his hands to Patton’s shoulders, clinging to the alpha as if he might disappear otherwise, carried off by his spinning mind. Patton kissed Logan just below his earlobe, moaning softly. “ _Logan_ I lo-”

Logan arched up as he came, digging his nails into Patton’s arms and dragging deep scratches downward, tearing the intimate moment away as he shouted. “Patton _fuck_!”

“Logan,” Patton groaned, and his thrusts became faster, _harder_ , with an undeniable purpose.

Logan looked down and the euphoria quickly faded as he realized Patton was going to try to knot him, “No, Patton. I don’t want-”

“Mine,” Patton snarled, soft and breathy in Logan’s ear.

“Patton _no_ ,” Logan yelped as he felt the knot pressing against him. In desperation he planted his feet against Patton’s middle and kicked as hard as he could, roaring. “I said _no_!”

Patton yelped as he fell off the bed to the stone floor. The fog of sex immediately dissipating and Patton rolled onto his side, curling around himself but not standing up or trying to defend himself. He’d acted like a monster and been treated as such. Logan stood up from the bed and knelt beside him, leaning in to bring his face close to Patton’s, “If you try that again I’ll tear your dick off.”

Patton nodded, tearful and breathless, “I’m sorry. I-I would never hurt you.”

Logan lowered his head against Patton’s shoulder, then nuzzled into his neck, taking in as much of the soothing alpha scent as he could before his right mind returned. Then he would excuse himself and never ask Patton for help again—he’d been stupid to trust an alpha in the first place.

Logan glanced around the home as he touched the door, hesitant to go. He wanted to crawl back in bed with Patton, wake him up, forgive him and spend the morning together. “Fucking heat,” Logan muttered, and let himself out.

He did feel better, no longer heavy or gasping for breath. Patton had helped, and Patton had also cried for nearly two hours afterward, apologizing and babbling until Logan finally snapped at him. Logan never had patience for regret, and Patton was always eager to apologize. It grated on Logan’s nerves even now as he strode down the street toward his smithy. The street was quiet, and it was still a bit early, still dark and cold. Logan let himself in and the smell almost knocked him over. _Patton_ was still everywhere, and he sighed, doing his best to ignore it. His body was mercifully behaved as he went to recount he plates he’d done in a haze the day before—and toss the ones that weren’t up to his standards into the pile to be melted down.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside startled him, and he was brought back to the alpha before, dirty and rough and forceful. The way he’d held Logan down, and the way Patton had looked, _smelled_ when he’d come to Logan’s aid. He’d practically carried Logan home and insisted on being respectful. And then Logan had _begged_ him. Logan had stripped, leaking slick all over his bed, a sweaty, desperate mess. When Patton growled _mine_ it was Logan’s heart, not his _ass_ that had skipped a beat. Suddenly Logan wanted nothing to do with this smithy, nothing to do with the silver in his hands, and he dropped it, racing out after locking up and practically running back to Patton’s home.

Logan let himself in with the key Patton had given him some ten years earlier. The house was still quiet, curtains drawn and none of the candles lit. He closed the door quietly behind him and that’s when he heard it, soft whispering. He knew Patton was alone—Patton was _always_ alone at home, and he’d only been gone about an hour, so he toed off his boots and stepped through the kitchen to the bedroom doorway.

Patton was on the bed, his face hidden in his pillow as he rutted back against his hand, and Logan was fixated on the sight, frozen in the doorway as he watched. It wasn’t a new concept to Logan; as an omega, he wasn’t above slipping a finger or two inside of himself in a moment of desperation. What he couldn’t fathom was why an _alpha_ would be doing it. When Patton muttered Logan’s name, Logan’s cock twitched in his pants and he glanced around as if there was some _other_ Logan that Patton would be fantasizing about. Logan moved closer and the floor creaked softly.

Patton winced and looked over his shoulder, quickly moving his hand but Logan reached to stop him from moving beyond that, “Please wait.”

Patton turned red but he did as Logan said, his eyes half-lidded as he waited for an explanation. Logan glanced over and picked up the bottle of oil, pouring a bit into his hand and recapping it clumsily before slipping his own two fingers into Patton. Patton yelped, “You don’t h-ha-have to… ohhhh Logan.”

Logan knew his way around his own body, and metaphysical differences aside, he assumed Patton couldn’t be _that_ different. He went slow, thrusting and stroking until he found a spot that made Patton’s voice jump an octave and his hips rock backwards. This was all it took for Logan’s fascination to become something else. Passion ignited like a wayward spark hitting a pile of dry wool tinder, and he was soon fumbling with his free hand to get his pants out of the way.

Patton mewled in disappointment when Logan’s fingers were withdrawn, but another glance over his shoulder and he outright _moaned_ , “Yes Logan, want you so bad. Want your cock, please.”

Logan didn’t even have the presence of mind to be startled by Patton’s shameless begging as he oiled himself up and pressed inside. He grit his teeth and growled, struggling not to pull Patton back and bury himself completely all in one go. He wasn’t some out of control monster—as blurred as his reason had become. When Patton started pushing back, Logan met his movements, and when he bottomed out, he took a moment to remind himself that he wasn’t dreaming. Patton was endearingly impatient, and Logan would have chuckled if he wasn’t overwhelmed by the tight heat around his cock when Patton pushed back, begging Logan to move.

Logan wasn’t equipped with the same instincts as an alpha, but being inside of Patton felt _right_ , like he’d finally found something that made him feel human instead of a creature that didn’t belong. He almost stopped to ask Patton if he felt the same, but it was fairly obvious. Patton was making tiny sounds with each collision of their hips as if Logan’s cock was knocking the wind out of him. Logan leaned down and buried his nose in the hair at the nape of Patton’s neck, inhaling deeply. He took in Patton’s scent eagerly for the first time, rather than avoiding or recoiling. Patton smelled like wildflower honey, warm and rich and spiced; it reminded Logan of his favorite tavern mead.

When Logan licked the back of his neck, Patton hummed, “Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Mark me?”

Logan pulled back to look down where Patton was baring his neck, precisely where an alpha should bite. He hesitated, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. “Patton…”

“Please,” Patton said. “I want to be yours. I’ve always wanted…”

Logan surged forward and Patton practically howled when Logan’s teeth sank into his shoulder; he reached back to bury his hand in Logan’s hair, holding him in place, “Harder.” His voice was hoarse, mad with lust, “Bite me harder.”

Logan did so, because he wanted to; he wanted a mouthful of Patton, to mark him and claim him and _keep_ him, all because he knew it’s what Patton wanted too. The copper tang of blood reached Logan’s tongue and Patton came, yelling Logan’s name loud enough that Logan was half-sure the city guards would show up any minute to arrest him for attempted murder. Patton tensed and trembled around him and Logan moaned through clenched teeth, burying himself inside of Patton as his release took him, more powerful, more _meaningful_ than it had ever been.

Patton collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto his back and reaching for Logan. Logan lowered himself onto Patton and their lips met in an exhausted kiss before Patton hid his face in the crook of Logan’s neck. “Where’d you learn to… do that?” Logan muttered.

“I’ve been watching you,” Patton teased, giggling when Logan pinched his side.

Logan’s heart skipped and he took a sharp breath as emotion choked him, “Patton…”

“I know,” Patton said against Logan’s skin. “Me too.”

The fire burned hot as Logan watched his old mistakes melt away, sweat rolling down his back beneath his shirt. He felt strong, fully himself again, and he’d already torn through half of the order for Lady Carrington, having spent most of the morning cursing her name with each hammer-stroke. Admiring the completed pieces had eased his spite somewhat, and every once in a while the dull roar of entirely-too-happy voices from next door would bring a smile to his lips. The apprentices were absolutely running wild, but they’d drawn a crowd of shoppers with their antics, and usually Patton would take in orders for doorknobs and drawer-pulls in the dozens when crowds gathered. His talent was undeniable, and his smile was beyond infectious.

It was the warm, fluffy thoughts clogging up his brain that made work go so much faster into the afternoon, when his hands and back had begun to ache, and he had a fine layer of soot over every bare part of his body. Footsteps at the open doorway to his shop drew his attention, and Patton stood there, his honey-sweet pheromones tickling Logan’s nose. “Looks like Lady Carrington’s party will be saved after all,” he said with a smile.

Logan chuckled, setting the last plate aside after he’d finished polishing it, “If it’s the death of me, that damn party will go on unhindered.”

Patton had his shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down, as usual, but it exposed the bite on his neck, Logan’s _mark_ , and it made the silversmith’s cheeks go hot as he remembered their whispered promises to one another, sequestered in Patton’s bed. Patton noticed Logan’s gaze and lifted his hand to touch the spot; it had healing to do, but there was no doubt the mark would be permanent. “I missed you.”

“Can’t smell me through the wall?”

Patton lifted his shirt collar and sniffed it, “I don’t have to smell through any wall to catch your scent anymore.”

Patton grinned and Logan’s gaze darkened, “Tease.”

“What!” Patton defended. “I’m just speaking the truth.” He moved closer and stretched up to kiss Logan’s nose.

Logan pulled Patton closer and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth, relishing the way Patton went boneless in his grip, so pliant and easy under his guidance, “How long before you quench the fires?”

“I want you to quench _my_ fire, first,” Patton breathed.

Logan didn’t hesitate, pushing Patton up against the stone wall hard enough that Patton let out a little _oh_! before Logan attacked his neck with kisses. They were _never_ going to get any work done now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
